


How to Negotiate a Treaty with the Eastern Guild

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1632644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ambrose and Wyatt Cain are on a mission to make peace with the Eastern Guild.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Negotiate a Treaty with the Eastern Guild

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kati-Lara

 

 

**How to Negotiate a Treaty with the Eastern Guild**

If there was one place in the wide and wonderful O.Z. to which Ambrose had never wished to return, it was the lands of the Eastern Guild. Specifically, it was to the hanging baskets that served as jail cells in the lands of the Eastern Guild.

And yet, that's exactly where he and Cain were, swinging in the breeze, trying to get it through the inhabitants' thick heads that they were Ambassadors and ought to be treated with respect. While the soldiers did take the papers they offered, they did not seem impressed by the ornate Queen's Seal enchanted to shine brightly on each one.

At least Ambrose wasn't tied up this time. Yet. Although being tied up might not be so bad if he and Wyatt were more than just friends, which they weren't, so really Ambrose needed to stop thinking of things like that.

For a full fifteen minutes their pleas fell on deaf ears, and then the soldiers simply walked away and left them hanging. 

*

A long hour or two passed, time Ambrose considered well-spent working with Cain to design a new device that could throw Munchkin soldiers tremendous distances. They were arguing over what was to name the device when a Munchkin wearing the elaborate bone-and-fur headpiece and striped facepaint of the Chief came to their cage. The entourage of soldiers and advisors trailing behind him would've put the Queen's to shame.

"Let the Ambassadors out," the Chief commanded. Two soldiers hastened to open the door.

In vain, Ambrose waited for an apology.

"You come from the Queen?" the Chief asked, his tone harsh.

"We do," Ambrose answered. "My name is Ambrose, and this is Wyatt Cain."

"We have heard of you. Welcome to the Eastern Guild. I be Chief Dorin, and I invite you to our city. No harm will befall you here." 

_Tell that to the anklebiters who stuck us in the cage,_ Ambrose thought, but he held his tongue. 

The soldiers led them to a large, central platform. Many bridges from the surrounding trees led to the area, which seemed to function as some sort of town square. 

Dorin gestured to one of the bridges, looked at Ambrose and said, "I present to you my daughter, Leila. Your marriage will seal our alliance."

A young and possibly attractive (it was difficult to tell underneath the facepaint) Munchkin girl walked onto the platform to stand before them, eyes downcast.

 _Great,_ Ambrose thought. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for Queen and country, but just ONCE he wished it didn't have to come to that. He did his best to give her an encouraging smile.

The smile must not have been convincing, because barely one second passed before Dorin stood up a little straighter, his face beginning to harden. Ambrose figured he had about twenty-nine more seconds to respond before his and Cain's chances to reestablish ties between the Eastern Guild and the monarchy crumbled into nothing.

"He's already spoken for," Wyatt Cain took a step forward and placed his hand on Ambrose's lower back in a very familiar and not-at-all uncomfortable way. "We are promised to each other. You can tell them, sweetheart."

Once he recovered from his shock, Ambrose grinned; Cain was probably going to regret this one, but Ambrose intended to enjoy it to the fullest. He leaned against Cain's side, snuggling, practically purring, "It's true, though we'd like to keep it quiet. We haven't announced it yet." 

"And have you consummated this relationship?" One of Dorin's advisors asked.

"That be none of our business, Tasban," Dorin said to his advisor.

"But if the relationship be not consummated, the Ambassador still be free to wed." Tasban pointed out, stroking his beard.

"Oh, we've consummated," Ambrose lied. He leaned in still closer to Cain. "Maybe not as often as I'd like," He broke off and lowered his voice a bit while still making sure he would be heard quite clearly, "His libido isn't what it could be. Happens with age, you know."

"There's nothing wrong with my libido," Cain growled, removing his hand from Ambrose's back. "Maybe your seduction techniques aren't up to par."

"Are you saying I'm not seductive?" Ambrose pulled away, folded his arms in front of his chest, and glared. "Listen, mister. You have no idea-"

"Okay, okay! We believe you." Dorin snapped his fingers. "Gisela, Brin! Prepare the Feast of Blessings!" He turned back to Ambrose and Cain. "In place of a wedding, you be invited to the Feast of Blessings tonight, to partake of our Draught of Luperci and so be members of our tribe." He turned to the watching crowd of Munchkins and raised his arms. "Instead of one son, tonight the Eastern Guild gains two!"

A loud cheer rose from the assembled Munchkins. 

At the mention of the Draught, Ambrose's heart sank. When the cheering began to die down, he said: "We thank you deeply and look forward to joining you. Is there a place we can tidy up suitably for this honor?"

*

The second they were alone, Ambrose turned to Cain. "What were you thinking?" 

"I was thinking that you didn't want to marry that poor girl," Cain snapped. "I apologize if I screwed up your wedding plans."

"You're right. This isn't your fault. Still," Ambrose paced back and forth across the small room they'd been given for their stay, carefully not looking at the single bed. The scar from his re-brainment surgery was beginning to _throb_. "Screwed is certainly the word for it."

"What isn't my fault? Is it so bad?"

"You've apparently never heard of the Draught of Luperci." Part of him almost wished he was the type of man who'd let Cain drink first and explain after. "It's a fertility drink. Magical. Rumored to be the strongest aphrodisiac in the O.Z."

"Oh." Cain stared at him with a look he'd been giving Ambrose too often lately, as though he were waiting for something. 

"The way I see it, our only options," Ambrose began, "are to sneak out now and abandon the mission, or to apologize and agree that I will marry the Chief's daughter, or-"

"Or we could drink the stuff."

"-or we could drink the stuff." Ambrose paused as it sank in. "We could?" 

Cain shrugged.

"We'll end up going at it like papay in mating season. Are you sure you're up for that?"

A half-smile tugged at the corner of Cain's mouth. "I can take anything you got."

Ambrose could feel the grin splitting his face and had no desire try to stop or hide it. He stalked Cain, walking up to him with exaggerated intent, determined to clarify one thing before everything got out of hand. Or in hand. Or in any of a number of other warm, tight places.

Not that Ambrose had any intention of backing out regardless; even if it was just for the night, Wyatt Cain was _his._

Cain held his ground, not budging even when they were practically nose-to-nose. 

"Are you sure about this, Wyatt? You don't strike me as the type to do this casually, especially with a friend." Ambrose looked down at Cain's beautiful, full, soft-looking lips, _just_ one thought away from kissing them.

"I'm not," Cain agreed. His eyes were closing, the invitation obvious.

"Good, because I'm not either," Ambrose said and leaned in to kiss him. And if the kiss was any indication of the kind of evening they would be having, Ambrose decided that Munchkins might not be so bad, after all. 

Eventually, they broke apart - not because they wanted to, but because what sounded like half of the entire Eastern Guild was banging the door down. Grinning at each other like a couple of ridiculous, love drunk fools, they opened the door and met their fate.

*

Dinner was a complete and total blur. Not the frightening, fragmented, messy blur that marked the time he'd spent missing half his brain, but a blur that said he'd been much less aware of his surroundings than a good Ambassador should be. 

Most of the time he spent covertly staring at Wyatt. He couldn't seem to stop following the lines of Wyatt's solid body beneath those thick traveling clothes, couldn't stop thinking of one hundred - one thousand - filthy things they could do to each other until they were both sticky with come, sore, and completely used up. 

All conversation stopped when several Munchkin servants brought out several small white bowls containing a dark, sludgy green liquid. 

In the background, soft drums began to beat a rhythm as natural as a heartbeat.

"The Draught of Luperci," Chief Dorin announced. The lights were dimmed, and in the long, low hall whose ceiling was made entirely of leaves, his face paint and headdress looked correct, appropriate, and it was Ambrose in his finery who felt as though he were playing dress-up. 

"It is time to toast your loved ones," the Chief continued, turning to his own wife, who smiled at him proudly, lifting her bowl. 

Ambrose turned to Wyatt, who was already looking at him, his bowl held up. Wyatt's pupils were dilated, his expression open, vulnerable, and a hot chill shot up Ambrose's spine at the sight. 

Wyatt meant this, in a way that was much too large to be properly conveyed through their light remarks, the quick exchange under pressure in their borrowed room. He would be there for Ambrose from that moment on, for _life_ , because that's what Wyatt Cain did.

Before Ambrose's hand could start shaking, he brought the bowl to his lips and drank.

The Draught tasted like peaches and apples, sunlight and salt. It was sweet and smooth and warm, magical. 

And then, once swallowed, it turned to fire.

"Now," he hissed at Wyatt, who was still finishing the last of the liquid in his own bowl. He stood up and grabbed Wyatt by the wrist. "Come on, Wyatt. We're going _now._ "

*

They made it back to their treehut - someone's treehut, at any rate. The drums seemed to follow them through the night, because Ambrose could still hear them when they grabbed for each other.

 _This was a mistake,_ Ambrose tried to think. They couldn't enjoy each other like this, so completely desperate that every touch almost hurt from the intense pleasure of it. Handfuls of flesh, the touch of skin against skin as clothes were hastily shoved out of the way, all of it driven from a near-agonizing need.

But the kissing, that was wonderful. It made everything worthwhile, to be able to kiss and kiss and kiss without stopping. 

Until, thinking that maybe if they came, they could start again, take things a little more slowly, Ambrose dropped to his knees. Vaguely, he regretted the splinters he'd get from the wooden floor, but he was too hungry to give it much thought. 

Their clothes were a mess, half-open, half pulled off, and freeing Wyatt's cock from his pants was swiftly done. The sight of it, thick as he'd imagined it would be, combined with the animal, musky scent of Wyatt's body and went straight through him. 

He leaned in, guided Wyatt's prick to his mouth and then sucked it in, right down to the root. Wyatt threw his head back and yelled, swore, and cursed. When Ambrose began moving his head, the last pretence of Wyatt's stoicism slipped away and he began to _beg._

Which was more than enough for Ambrose, who dropped a hand from Wyatt's hip into his own lap, pulling out his own cock and stroking it in rhythm as he sucked, in rhythm with the drums outside, in rhythm with Wyatt saying _please_ and then _almost_ and then _now_. And it was far too much and only seconds after the first burst of warm salt struck his tongue the pleasure spiked impossibly sharper, higher, and he came just like that, just from sucking Wyatt off.

Wyatt slid down the wall he'd been pushed against at some point in the proceedings. Ambrose managed to turn his head enough to see him, to see his face flushed and relaxed and somehow slightly dismayed. 

"What's wrong?" Ambrose asked, stiffening, worried.

"I didn't get to touch you," Wyatt said. He ran a finger along Ambrose's cock, which began to harden as though he was a teenager again, with limitless sexual energy. 

And Ambrose was happier than he'd ever been in his life; he knew it without question, despite his shattered memory.

 _Who would've thought? I guess the Munchkins are really not such bad little guys, once you get past the hanging cage fetish,_ Ambrose thought. _Brilliant potion makers, and-_ His thoughts nearly trailed off completely when Wyatt began kissing his way down Ambrose's body.

_Not so bad at all._

*** 

 


End file.
